Angel Wrapped in Pink
by Skye Grace
Summary: AU, One-shot. One of the Winchester men is struck by tragedy when a car accident threatens to tear his life apart. Will he be left alone to suffer through his pain, or is there a chance at happiness in the future?


**Just a little one-shot that happened after listening to Tim McGraw's "My Little Girl". Totally AU, I know. Once I started thinking about it, I had to write it. **

**Not going to tell you which Winchester man this is, so read it and enjoy it! I own nothing expect the idea.**

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Angel Wrapped in Pink

The standard hospital lights buzzed quietly overhead, but the sound went unnoticed by the only occupant in the small hallway. Only three chairs lined the wall, with only one chair being put to use by the man who was waiting on baited breath for news he hopes he doesn't hear.

He had his head bowed and his eyes were closed. Leaning slightly forward, his elbows rested on his knees, with his forehead against his interlocked fingers. If anyone would have walked by, they would have only thought he was praying. But he knew his prayers weren't going to be heard that day.

Deep down, somewhere in the bottom of his heart and soul, he knew. He knew that the woman on the operating table wouldn't survive to see her child, _their_ child, open their eyes for the first time. Wouldn't know that she would be forever loved and never forgotten by the man who loved her so fiercely. She wasn't even aware that she was on the edge of death.

He wished he could be there to hold her hand as she faded from the world, God he wished so badly to. He wanted to talk to her, even if she couldn't hear him. He wanted to be there with her when their child was born. He wished for so much, but it was just petty thoughts.

Hours passed, but it felt like an eternity for him. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't cry. And he wouldn't cry until he knew she was gone.

He thought about how they had woken up that morning, laughing and smiling at the finished nursery they had set up together. He kissed her on her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. Flowers. His arms circled her protectively, hands resting on her large belly.

It was a spur of the moment decision to go out for breakfast that morning. Nothing seemed like it was going to wrong, but at the same time, everything did.

Not a cloud in the sky. Summer breeze blowing through the windows as they drove. Sun shining down on the roof of his car.

He reached over and took her hand in his, smiling at her. She smiled back, basking in the sunlight.

It was perfect. They were happy, and alive, and together. In love.

The other car came out of nowhere, colliding viciously with the back of their car, sending them into a spin into the oncoming lane of traffic. His eyes looked up fearfully at the rapidly approaching semi, trying to slow down. It was no good.

Metal screeched and groaned as it was twisted unnaturally, glass shattered as the frame was crumpled. The last he remembered was seeing the truck, feeling his hand squeezed painfully as she tried to stay calm.

His car was unrecognizable with all the damage it took in the accident. Blood covered the seats, steering wheel, and inside the doors. There was hardly any damage to the semi, or the other driver. They were lucky.

He and his woman weren't. They were rushed to the nearest hospital in separate ambulances. He regained consciousness on the ride in, and began to panic over his wife and unborn child. After getting the bare minimal amount of stitches, he was sitting outside the O.R.

He couldn't feel the pain from where the stitches crossed the left side of his face or on his collarbone. He ignored the itch from the sterile bandages covering his left ear. His nose was still broken and unset, the deep purple bruising darkening as the clock ticked. His bloodied knuckles and forearms were nonexistent to him. He didn't need to worry about the pain while he was too busy worrying over his wife.

Finally, he heard a door open. It was enough to get him to lift his swollen face to the doctor. He could tell by the grim set of the older man's mouth that nothing had worked. He could feel his heart breaking, shattering into a million tiny, irreplaceable pieces, much like the shattered glass from his car. Tears welled in his eyes, slowly sliding down his face and falling to the floor below. He felt the comforting hand on his shoulder, but that didn't stop the tears, or mend the heartbreak.

When the older man asked if he wanted to meet his daughter, he looked up, hope filling his eyes. He was speechless. Maybe it would be okay, somehow, someway, that he would be okay. He could only nod, standing on shaking legs to follow the doctor into the neonatal unit around the corner.

He scanned all the little bundles wrapped in blankets, trying to see his. But she was away from the rest of the babies.

She was wrapped in a pink blanket, a tiny pink hat covering her head. He could see dark hair sticking out underneath. He couldn't help the smile that graced his lips as he gently picked her up. She was heavy, and she whined a little as she was shifted. One hand was raised up, held in a loose fist.

He took his finger and touched her hand, smiling wider as she instantly grabbed on. He held her as the nurse asked him questions for her birth certificate. He wasn't really paying attention, only focusing on the pink-wrapped angel in his arms.

"Grace Elizabeth Winchester, my little girl." He murmured, kissing the top of her small head fondly. "My name is Dean, and I'm your daddy." He whispered in her ear, a single tear falling down onto her little hat as he held her closely, thankful to a God somewhere that he still had her in his life.


End file.
